


write a secret language on your skin

by grim_lupine



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grim_lupine/pseuds/grim_lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may be Ray that likes it when Brad holds him down, leaves his mark on him, orders him around with a snap in his voice, but the truth is that it leaves Brad just as helpless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	write a secret language on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Знаки на твоей коже](https://archiveofourown.org/works/616339) by [grim_lupine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grim_lupine/pseuds/grim_lupine), [SleepSpindles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepSpindles/pseuds/SleepSpindles)



-

\--

“Brad, do it, come on, fucking _do_ it,” Ray’s swearing breathlessly and writhing around, wrists tied up above his head, and Brad may have the patience and self-control of ten men, but Ray’s enough to push even that to its limit.

“I think you can ask prettier than that, Ray,” Brad says, and wonder of all wonders, his voice stays even. “With that mouth of yours? Ask me nicely.”

There’s a trickle of sweat running down the side of Ray’s face. Brad wants to taste it on his tongue, salty and sharp and vivid. He has his hand around Ray’s cock, slick with precome, and maybe Ray won’t say the word _please_ with his lips, but it’s written all over him in his dark burning eyes, the helpless twitch of his fingers, his swollen, bitten mouth.

“Bruise me.” The words are rough, a plea wrapped up in a command. “Bite me, _hard_ , make it hurt, make me feel it, _Brad_ —”

Brad leans down and sinks his teeth into Ray’s thigh; sucks the flesh sharply, scraping it with his teeth. He knows what it’ll look like when he’s done: purple and vivid, fucking beautiful against Ray’s skin. Even just running his fingers against it later, the barest touch, will be enough to make Ray hiss, and swear at him, and inevitably lean into his touch.

Ray cries out and comes all over his hand, thighs trembling, mouth falling open. Brad feels his pulse pound in his ears. It may be Ray that likes it when Brad holds him down, leaves his mark on him, orders him around with a snap in his voice, but the truth is that it leaves Brad just as helpless. It isn’t just a pleasure to have this much of Ray’s trust in his hands, it’s a fucking _responsibility_ , and Brad would not give it up for the world.

*

For as many people who write Ray off as a loudmouthed asshole, there are always a few who look at him like they’re _intrigued_ , like they want to figure him out with their hands and their mouth, and maybe keep him at the end of the night when they’re done.

Too fucking bad. He was _Brad’s_ first, and Brad knows enough to know that sometimes that doesn’t mean anything, but he also knows Ray enough to see that no one else registers on his radar. Not really.

Doesn’t stop Ray from poking at his jealousy, though, and even when Brad knows he’s being played like a fiddle, he can’t help it. He sees Ray chatting with some asshole in the bookstore he dragged Brad to, all dimples and jokes and that sly, dirty smile that’s _Brad’s_ , fuck him—

—Brad looms up next to him, watches Ray’s would-be admirer’s eyes widen nervously. He feels Ray tense up at his side in nothing like fear, everything like anticipation, and in the next breath Brad has a hand tightening around his arm and drags him off to the bathroom.

There’s no one else in there, thank fucking God, because at this point Brad might not have cared; might have shoved Ray into the handicapped stall and followed him in there and let anyone else in the bathroom make their assumptions.

Ray’s back hits the wall and his breath whooshes out in a gasp; his fingers tighten almost thoughtlessly in Brad’s shirt, and he looks like he might be about to say something, but Brad puts a hand over his mouth first, shoving his head back against the wall.

“Not a fucking word,” Brad warns, deadly, “unless it’s my name or ‘please’.”

He can feel Ray’s breath warm and damp against his palm. He can feel the ever-so-slight incline of Ray’s head in acceptance.

Kissing Ray never gets old; Ray kisses like he’s starved for it, like he wants to crawl inside Brad’s mouth and never come out. He’s practically climbing Brad right now, pinned between Brad and the wall, and he groans loudly into Brad’s mouth when Brad hooks a hand under Ray’s left leg and pulls it up around his own waist.

Their mouths part with a wet, slick noise that makes Brad push his hips forward into Ray, just a little bit. He hears “ _Brad_ ” moaned into his ear when he scrapes his teeth against Ray’s jaw; and “ _Brad_ ” again when he pushes his tongue firmly into the soft skin under Ray’s chin; and he hears it again, sharper this time, when he bites the curve of Ray’s neck.

“BradBradBradBrad, jesus _fuck_ ,” he hears Ray chant distantly when he sucks hard on the skin there, scraping roughly with his teeth, hands tightening on Ray’s hips.

He pulls away, and lets Ray down slowly, and steps back. Ray makes an indignant, helpless noise, and looks a little wobbly on his feet. Brad doesn’t feel exactly steady himself.

“Can’t even follow simple directions, can you?” he asks, voice dark and jagged to his own ears. He reaches out to trace his thumb over the slick curve of Ray’s lower lip, and Ray sucks it into his mouth, releasing it with a slick _pop_.

“You’d get bored if I did,” Ray returns, making no move to straighten up from the wall. Brad looks him over: red, spit-gleaming mouth; cock straining hard at the front of his jeans; a dark, purpling bruise high up on Ray’s neck, the first thing anyone’s eyes will be drawn to. He looks fucking _wrecked_.

Brad smiles, slow and predatory. “Go back and find that guy, go and flirt with him now. I fucking dare you,” he says, smooth and dagger-sharp. Ray laughs, eyes bright with amusement and self-satisfaction and arousal.

“You territorial bastard, gonna make me walk out there like this in front of everyone? With your teeth fucking imprinted on me?” Ray breathes, and Brad reaches out, drags him forward by his belt loops.

“You’re damn right I am,” he whispers into his ear, “and if you’re good I’ll think about letting you jerk off in the car on the way home.”

They leave, and every look Ray gets from the bathroom to the car makes pleasure flare bright and hot in Brad’s stomach.

*

Most nights, Brad shuts the bedroom door behind them and flicks the lights on, and tells Ray, “Get your clothes off.”

Ray strips out of them like they’re on fire. That’s how they work; Ray’s mouthy as shit, always keeps Brad on his toes, but he _obeys_ so sweetly it makes Brad’s stomach clench, arousal throb hot inside him.

So when Brad pushes him down on the bed and says, in a voice that’s gone thick and low, “Don’t move, Ray,” Ray says softly, “Control freak,” but he does. Not. Move.

Brad just looks Ray over; hands flat at his sides, cock hard, chest rising up-and-down with his ragged breaths. He’s lean and bare, and he has Brad’s marks all over him—finger bruises on his hips, a bite high up on his throat; indelible and breathtaking, and when Brad looks at each one, he’s slammed with the vivid sense-memory of Ray _asking_ for it, Ray _wanting_ it.

Brad _has_ to fuck Ray, after that. With his fingers, slicked up, sliding in and out of Ray’s hole as Ray pushes back onto them, swearing, “Mother _fucker_ , I’m not gonna break, fucking _fuck_ me already.” Finally sliding into him all the way, slamming into him again, and again, and again, as Ray calls him names and praises him with equal fervor. Brad gets Ray’s wrists in his hands and squeezes, feels the delicate bones and the fluttering pulse underneath his fingers; and that’s how Ray comes, all over his stomach, Brad’s cock buried inside him, sobbing for breath.

It’s fucking _amazing_ ; depraved, and beautiful, and something Brad will hold onto with everything he has.

\--

-


End file.
